


Seal it with a kiss

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: Witcher Fanfics [18]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Abduction, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Biting, Consent Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-29 11:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: “Regis.” He spoke softly, so to not startle the man. In the state Regis was in, he might not even know where he was, or who he was with. Geralt knew what could happen if one caught a distressed vampire off guard.Regis slowly dragged his head around to face him, his half-lidded eyes fixing shakily on Geralt’s face. A hint of red bloomed in his irises when they made eye contact and Regis turned away, returning his forehead to the ground.“Regis, what did they do to you?”After Geralt and Regis are captured by vampires furious at Dettlaff's death, they drug Regis in an attempt to humiliate him and ruin his relationship with his witcher. It doesn't go at all according to plan.





	Seal it with a kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, while Regis consents to the sex in this fic, there are still consent issues due to an aphrodisiac being involved. This is otherwise a pretty light hearted story.

Geralt had been due to pick up some fresh bread and butter from Beauclair's market.

He had never made it more than a mile from his vineyard.

A small group of vampires had jumped him and dragged him off Roach, throwing a burlap sack over his head and hitting him so hard at the base of his skull that his vision faded to black. When next he opened his eyes, it was to the ceiling of a dungeon cell. The whole ordeal left him light-headed, disorientated, and foremost of all, it left him  _confused_ , because as far as Geralt could remember, he hadn't done anything to piss off the vampires lately. Unless they were associates of Orianna, but he doubted it; Orianna hadn't lived among her own kind in centuries. She had died quietly, with few other than the Duchess to mourn her.

Once the throbbing of his skull had eased enough for him to think clearly, Geralt dragged himself to the bars of his cell and attempted to eavesdrop on his captors. He'd been caught often enough during his years on the path to know the value of listening. Perhaps it wouldn't bring his immediate release, but it could only help to have more information.

Unfortunately, as deep in the dungeon as he was, his captors' exchanges were rarely within earshot. He had to spend days by the bars, listening hard at nothing, before he was finally able to catch a snippet of conversation. Just one, but that snippet proved informative:

“Emiel should be here any day now. He won’t leave his witcher friend vulnerable.”

“Are you certain? He didn’t seem the saving type in his youth.”

“He became an anathema for this witcher, I know-“

The rest of their conversation became unintelligible as they stepped out of range.

It relieved Geralt's foreboding some to know Regis would soon be coming to his aid, though there was no telling if his captors were weak enough for Regis to raze through as he had done Dettlaff's _other_ vampire allies. He hadn't gotten a good gauge on their abilities when being subdued. He had offered too little resistance for that. At the time, he hadn't been carrying anything more than a steel sword, nor wearing anything that could pass as armour, so attempting to fight them off would have been an exercise in futility. He hadn't felt the need to travel while weighed down with his usual gear in some time. Surrounded by the warm, rolling hills of Toussaint, ones that he himself had cleared of potential adversaries, he'd thought himself safe.

So much for that.

Regardless of how he happened to be reunited with Regis, Geralt had faith that they would find a way out of this. They were tenacious men and together they were usually able to squirm their way out of even the direst of situations.

As he was given food and water three times a day, the waiting wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The water they provided might have carried an aftertaste of dirt and the bread and cheese was stale and a little bit mouldy, but those unpleasantries were easier to tolerate than starvation or dehydration would have been. He had experienced both those afflictions several times in his life and he’d shoved far worse things into his gullet in an effort to stave them off.

The vampires weren’t torturing him either. He’d expected it, braced for it, but the most they had done thus far was manhandle him. They hadn’t even attempted to drink from him. Whatever they intended to do to, they clearly wouldn’t start until Regis arrived to bear witness.

He knew, should Regis get captured, he would probably have to undergo torture at least once before they could concoct an escape. The vampires would be eager to begin, he was sure. He just hoped what they had planned for him wouldn’t involve any maiming. Adding a few more scars to his collection was a triviality, but losing fingers, or toes, or a limb? That would be considerably harder to cope with. It would impede his ability to function as a witcher. Not that he did much witchering these days, but it was nice to be able to do the occasional odd job for his neighbours.

The hours passed slowly. He occupied himself by recounting the ingredients of his witcher potions and moved onto oils and decoctions upon exhausting that list. When he bored of that, he began to examine every inch of his cell to make sure he hadn’t overlooked something he could exploit. His searching failed to uncover anything useful; just some dirt, dust, and blood splatters, and he found the bricks and bars too sturdy enough to withstand any force he could create. He was quick to conclude he wouldn’t be breaking himself out of the cell anytime soon, though he continued to grope around it regardless. He didn’t like to sit idle.

He had managed to lose track of the days when Regis finally arrived at his cell. Or rather, was dragged there. Any hope he’d had of Regis freeing him before the torture began died when the sweaty, shivering form of his friend came into view. The vampires carrying him tossed him unceremoniously onto the stone beside Geralt and shut the door.

Geralt hurried to Regis’ side, reaching for him. The moment his hand touched Regis’ shoulder, Regis flinched so violently that Geralt was jostled back, rocking onto his haunches.

“What the hell’d you do to him?” asked Geralt, shooting a glower at the delighted faces of his captors.

The vampires didn’t answer, merely laughed. They had taken their leave before Geralt could voice another question.

He turned his attention back to Regis, who had curled up tight on the ground, his forehead pressed to the stone. To Geralt’s relief, he noted that Regis didn’t have the look of a vampire suffering from blood lust. His skin was flushed rather than pallid and his vampiric features hadn’t yet twisted into anything resembling bestial. He examined Regis further, dropping his gaze to what little skin was visible beneath the scant shirt and trousers their captors had left on him. 

Geralt hadn’t known vampires could sweat, so the slickness of Regis' chest came as a surprise. He noted that Regis usually neatly combed hair was in disarray, and that he was taking short, panting breaths. He had even drooled a little, some of it pooling under his lips. He might not have been afflicted with blood lust, but he was in no better state for it.

Geralt wanted to touch him, to comfort him, but he knew better than to do so after the visceral reaction he had received earlier. Whatever was wrong with Regis, physical contact clearly pained him.

“Regis.” He spoke softly, so to not startle the man. In the state Regis was in, he might not even know where he was, or who he was with. Geralt knew what could happen if one caught a distressed vampire off guard.

Regis slowly dragged his head around to face him, his half-lidded eyes fixing shakily on Geralt’s face. A hint of red bloomed in his irises when they made eye contact and Regis turned away, returning his forehead to the ground.

“Regis, what did they do to you?”

Regis audibly swallowed. “I’m s-sorry, Geralt,” he rasped.

“For what?” asked Geralt, falling unconsciously into a defensive stance, ready to pounce out of the way should Regis attack. He might have trusted his friend, but he wasn’t so foolish as to ignore the potential for Regis to lose control of himself. It had happened before.

“For this,” Regis forced out. “Having to see me like this, during a most- a most vulnerable, intimate moment.” He took an unsteady breath. Geralt waited patiently for him to regain enough composure to continue. “They’re trying to make you a part of it,” he finished, shuddering and clenching his jaw.

“Part of what?”

Regis spoke again with considerable difficulty. “Can’t you smell it, Geralt?”

Geralt breathed in, and his answer came in the form of the heady scent of musk and sweat; or, to be more specific, of _arousal_. His gaze dropped briefly to Regis’ crotch, which was noticeably tented.

Regis let out something like a whine and clenched a fist against his inner thigh, openly struggling against the urge to relieve himself, to humiliate himself in front of Geralt. Humiliating Regis was clearly what their captors wanted, and what a profound humiliation they had arranged for him. There were few things more mortifying than being made to debase yourself with an audience and possibly defile your best friend.

“Did they give you something?” Because if they had, there was a chance they could wait this out.

“Yes,” said Regis, and then he added, “It’ll be in my system for… for a long while. I don’t know if I can-“

Geralt’s hope for a simple resolution plummeted as Regis groaned and grazed his palm along his crotch.

Waiting wasn’t going to work. He was in pain. Desperate for relief.

“It’s alright, Regis.” He moved closer, not yet daring to touch Regis. “I’m not upset or disgusted. I want to help you.”

“Geralt, you can’t.” Regis shook his head, scraping his temple along the floor. Blood bloomed on his skin and Geralt had to rein back the instinctive movement he made to wipe it away for him. “Not this,” he rasped. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me,” said Geralt. “I’m offering.”

“I could lose control, hurt you-“

“I’m durable.”

Regis let out one long, defeated sigh, and Geralt took it as permission to initiate contact. It was as though he’d sent a bolt of electricity through Regis as he laid his hand over Regis’ arm, the man shuddering violently under his palm. But he did not move away this time, instead arching up into his touch, seeking more of it.

Vampires generated little body heat to speak of, so it spoke levels to Regis’ condition when he found Regis’ skin fever-hot under his hand. He drew Regis into his lap, simply holding him as Regis shifted enough to make himself comfortable. They faced a wall, back to the bars, just in case someone came wandering through. He wanted Regis to retain as much dignity as possible.

Once Geralt had given his explicit permission in the form of physical contact, Regis didn’t hesitate to pull open his trousers and wrap a hand around his cock, giving it several hard, hungry strokes with a shaking hand. Geralt stared at the wall in an attempt to give Regis some privacy, counting the cracks in each brick.

The sounds Regis produced were impossible to ignore. It was as though Regis was masturbating right by his ear, filling his head with the slick pull of his cock and an obscene series of moans and groans and growls. God, the _growls_. He’d never heard such sounds out of Regis before. He couldn’t help but think about how he would have liked to hear them in a different context, perhaps while Regis had him pinned to the bed, his legs over Regis' shoulders…

He grit his teeth and tried to remain detached, but it wasn’t enough to prevent his body from warming and his muscles from stiffening with shame and tension. What a right degenerate he was for getting aroused by his friend’s torture, and while in complete control of his faculties no less. He had no excuse. He was supposed to be helping Regis and instead he was practically getting off on listening to him pleasure himself. It was a shame there was no water nearby to douse himself with. He could have used a couple of splashes of cold water to his nether regions.

The stroking abruptly stopped. It couldn’t be because Regis had finished, for he gave neither a verbal nor physical indication of that, but Geralt didn't encroach on his privacy by looking down. He continued counting the cracks in the bricks.

“Geralt,” whispered Regis, shifting in his lap. Geralt’s thighs involuntarily clenched when his back brushed up against the bulge there. “I don’t seem to be the only one aroused here.”

Geralt was almost choked into silence by his mortification. “Sorry,” he squeezed out. “It’s involuntary. I’ll deal with it later.”

The words had barely left his lips when Regis grasped him by the shoulders and threw him to the ground, squeezing himself between Geralt’s legs before Geralt could orientate himself. Geralt stared up at him, wide eyed, hands instinctively rising to Regis' wrists. Not to restrain Regis, but simply to hold him like one would something both delicate and dangerous.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Regis murmured, voice breaking. “I need this – I need to be inside. My hand, it’s – it’s not enough to drive away the need, and you…” He dropped his face to Geralt’s chest, his nose bumping Geralt’s clavicle. “Gods, Geralt, you smell _so_ good.”

Geralt nodded. For his friends, he would do just about anything. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t want this, even if he would have preferred a different setting and a better means than spit with which to prepare himself. He’d caught an eyeful of Regis’ cock when the man had whipped it out and getting it in any orifice would be a squeeze. It was no wonder Beauclair’s succubus had been so thoroughly satisfied.

“If we’re going to do this,” he said, reaching between their bodies to undo the threads on his trousers. “I’ll need to prepare myself.”

“Yes,” said Regis, rising enough to watch the movement of Geralt’s hand. The agate of his eyes had given way entirely to red. “Yes, of course.”

“Think you can restrain yourself long enough to let me do that?”

Regis gave a jerky nod. A verbal confirmation would have been preferable, but Geralt wasn’t going to press. He needed to get this done before Regis’ pain returned.

He pushed his trousers out of the way, bunching them around his thighs, then spat into a palm. Regis didn’t so much as blink as he lowered his hand between his legs and swiped the saliva over his entrance, pressing a finger inside. His walls initially resisted, so he took several long, deep breaths to relax himself before venturing forward.

It’d been a while since he had last had this kind of sex. Having only dated sorceresses in recent years, there weren’t many opportunities for anything beyond the vanilla. The only sorceress willing to indulge him in anal stimulation had been Yennefer, and they never had gotten very far with that exploration as Geralt vastly preferred having a warm, soft cock inside himself rather than any of the cold, rigid toys Yennefer owned. With how long it had been when last he’d put anything up his ass, he expected he wouldn’t be adequately prepared no matter how much he stretched himself. But he could at least make himself more comfortable.

Regis licked his lips as he watched Geralt, saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth. His shoulders quaked with the effort it was taking him to refrain from leaping upon Geralt. He might have been horrendously aroused, but Regis still had some degree of control. Enough that Regis had to know he could seriously hurt Geralt if he went ploughing into him with reckless abandon.

It was odd to have Regis watching him while he prepared himself, particularly as he had never before considered Regis as a potential sexual partner. His usual tastes in men skewered more masculine, bulkier… but Regis wasn’t unattractive despite being a bit of an outlier. He had a strength that even Geralt’s most trained of partners could not have hoped to possess and that was very compelling.

He turned his face away, cheek to the stone. One of Regis’ hands came to rest on his damp neck, the other sliding up Geralt’s inner thigh, eliciting a shiver. Regis ground his arousal slowly against Geralt's buttocks, but that was all he permitted himself to do. He was showing incredible self-control.

Geralt spat some more onto his hand and added another finger, sliding it in down to the knuckle. If he squeezed one more in there he might just be able to fit Regis without being split in two. He pistoned slowly, stretching himself out.

“You’re beautiful, Geralt,” Regis murmured.

The comment, though nothing terribly profound or shocking, sent Geralt’s blood rushing. He curled away from Regis, folding an arm over his face, which had no doubt noticeably coloured. How silly it was to get flustered over something so small, but he couldn’t shake the warmth in his cheeks, nor the smile curling on his lips. He had never been complimented like this during sex before. ‘Beautiful’ just wasn’t something people used to describe men like him, to describe _witcher’s_. It was his stamina his lovers appreciated, his ability to please, not his _looks_.

“So beautiful,” said Regis, and Geralt bit his bottom lip to stop himself from grinning like a complete fool. 

“Shut it, Regis,” he ground out, adding one more finger.

Regis chuckled, the sound delightfully breathy. “Are you almost done? Geralt, I need-“

“I know, I know.” Some more spit and he twisted his fingers within himself, tensing and groaning when they brushed up against his sweet spot. It was always sensitive, even without prolonged stimulation. It must have been an effect of the mutations as he was sure that wasn’t normal, but God, he did not mind at all.

That sound seemed to be all that Regis could stand. The man grabbed Geralt around his thighs and pulled him deftly into his lap, his hard cock jutting up against the back of Geralt's legs. Geralt was forced to withdraw his hand by the movement, sliding his fingers out of himself and seeking purchase on the floor

“Are… are you ready?” Regis asked, just barely managing to produce the words, his hands white-knuckled around Geralt’s legs.

“Guess I’m gonna have to be,” said Geralt, peering at Regis over his arm. “Don’t rush.”

Regis didn’t seem able to reply verbally. He positioned his cock at Geralt’s entrance, closing his eyes and pinching his eyebrows before slowly sinking inside. His body quaked. He only got so far as the head before he stopped, taking panting breaths as he struggled against what must have been an overwhelming urge to be rough.

Geralt took deep breaths to relax himself. The more relaxed he was, the easier this would be.

“Calm down. I’m not gonna break,” he promised Regis, raising his hand to Regis’ face, sliding it through his sweaty hair. Regis offered him a trembling, toothy smile. “Just get it in, Regis,” he murmured. “Slowly, then give me a few minutes to adjust.”

Regis nodded, sweat dripping off his chin. He bent low and rested his head on Geralt’s sternum as he slowly pressed in to the hilt. Geralt let out a soft, guttural groan, pushing it out past clenched teeth. Regis’ girth made it a tight fit. Painfully tight for both of them, he imagined.

“Just…” He took a stuttering breath. “Just need a few moments. Been a while since I’ve done this.”

“You’ve done this?” asked Regis, a hint of disapproval in his strained voice.

“’Course I have,” mumbled Geralt, carefully wrapping his legs around Regis’ waist. “Been alive for… almost a century. You experiment plenty in that time.” And my, had he experimented. Particularly in Kaer Morhen with the other witcher’s. He wouldn’t be admitting it anytime soon, but he’d been fucked into a mattress by Eskel and Lambert more times than he could recall.

Regis nosed into Geralt’s neck, his lips grazing the pale stretch of Geralt’s throat. A hint of teeth scraped along his adams apple. “You- you aren’t to do this with anyone else,” said Regis, his voice hoarse, but controlled. “No one else, Geralt.”

“What?”

“Only me.”

And then Regis started to move, expertly rubbing up against his sweet spot. The sudden surge of pleasure made Geralt forget to respond. While Regis was very carefully rolling his hips to strike his prostate over and over, sending his nerves singing and his head swimming, restricting his sex life to Regis didn’t seem that bad an idea. The man clearly knew what he was doing even when out of his mind with lust.

The longer Regis stimulated his insides, the harder it became to exert any kind of control over himself. He was soon shivering and whimpering and twisting his fingers into Regis’ knees, grappling for just a slither of composure. He didn’t find it. He was distantly aware that the vampires would be able to hear him – to hear his wanton little sounds, but that wasn’t enough to compel silence.

When Regis rose to drape his arms across Geralt's shoulders, his hands resting on either side of Geralt’s neck, Geralt forced his eyes open and dazedly glanced up at Regis. Regis was watching him without blinking, his red eyes fixed on Geralt's face, drinking in his every movement. He licked his lips like a hungry beast whenever Geralt made a particularly indecent sound. The shadows blanketing his face narrowed his features and made his teeth seem longer, sharper. Regis had always come across as more man than vampire in the past, and there were times Geralt forgot that he was a vampire at all, but right now - it was more apparent than it had ever been that Regis was not human. He was dangerous. He could have ripped out Geralt's jugular within seconds. Could have broken every bone in his body. Could have torn him into pieces. Geralt was a fly beneath a spider, and the vulnerability of it made his cock ache.

"Regis," he breathed, his head lolling back as Regis gave his prostate a particularly vicious strike. The man was no longer holding himself back. From the crown of his head to his toes, Geralt's body shuddered.

"My little witcher," said Regis in reply, and his voice was a quiet and sibilant. So uncharacteristic of him that Geralt's heart jumped.

Regis bent low, his mouth dropping to Geralt's neck and teeth wrapping loosely around the straining tendons there. But he did not bite. "Capi pava, etera lucair," he whispered, his hips rhythmically slapping Geralt's thighs, going faster and faster. "Hiu, Pava."

Completion came to Geralt in a violent shudder, sending his whole body moving, his legs curling and twisting and his hands clawing into Regis' knees. The reflexive clenching around Regis' cock had Regis following soon after, filling him with a strange, sticky coolness that was almost enough to knock him out of his stupor.

Almost, but not quite.

He closed his eyes and let his head drop back. Everything was fuzzy and distant. His skin throbbed. “Didn’t think it’d be so cold,” he mumbled as Regis' come leaked out of him.

Regis licked away the sweat that had gathered at the dip of his collarbone. “I would have warned you, except… well…” He sounded more in control. Sheepish, even. “My apologies.”

Regis remained sheathed inside him. Scant seconds had passed before Geralt realised the man was getting hard again.

Whatever their captors had dosed him with, it was _potent_.

“How many more times we gonna need to do this?” he asked.

Regis started to rock his hips and Geralt had to bite down on a groan. “Many, many more times, if you will permit me.”

“I will,” said Geralt, without even needing to think about it. He raked a hand through his sweaty hair. "What did you say back there, anyway?" he asked, and he knew it wasn't an ideal time to be asking questions, but if he didn't voice his curiosity now, he wasn't likely to remember to do so later.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You spoke in the vampire language," Geralt reminded him. "Couldn't understand all of it."

Regis glanced away, clearing his throat. "It would be best if I did not tell you."

"No, come on," said Geralt, frowning up at Regis. "Tell me."

"I..."

"Regis, I'm letting you fuck me. Now's not the time to get shy."

Regis sighed and dropped his head, his shoulders hunching around it. "In essence, I... I told you you were a receptacle for my... lust, and then instructed you to scream."

"Oh," said Geralt, faintly embarrassed. That definitely wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. "Well... if you want to say that to me in Common, feel free."

Regis arched an eyebrow at him, his lips quirking. "You never cease to surprise me, Geralt."

* * *

A filthy dungeon wouldn’t have been his first, second, third, or… well, it wouldn’t have been among Geralt's choices at all had he been able to decide where he would spend what promised to be a _very_ long week being fucked by Regis. The air was frigid and the ground hard, and neither of those things made being pounded into the floor as pleasant an experience as it could have been. He was getting all too familiar with the aforementioned hard ground with how insatiable Regis was. For their first few days together, Geralt barely got any sleep, woken up every couple of hours by Regis’ needs. Regis would always ask him ‘are you okay? Is this alright?’ before proceeding to fuck him and Geralt would never fail to reply, ‘yes, of course’ like the overeager idiot he was, but he was pretty sure his ass would never be the same if Regis continued at the pace he was going. If ones ass could break, that was probably where they were headed. But Geralt had yet to say no regardless, because that was just the kind of friend he was (and Regis being able to give him three orgasms in a row might have had something to do with his decision as well). 

Thankfully, on the fourth day of captivity, Regis seemed comfortable enough to give him a much needed break. It was also around this time that their captors realised their plan to humiliate Regis had failed. They had certainly tried to make him feel bad, standing at the bars and jeering at them both, but he and Regis were generally too spent to acknowledge their attempts at provocation. Regis did hiss a comment or two in the vampiric language, initially, but he lost steam for that quickly, helped in part by Geralt soothing him with fingers and mouth whenever he started to show signs of agitation.

The fact the vampires continued to feed Geralt suggested they hadn't given up on breaking Regis, though. Whatever they intended to do to achieve that outcome, Geralt hadn’t any desire to find out, nor even _imagine_ it. These were, after all, people who thought humiliation through sex was a suitable punishment for an anathema.

They had to escape. And as Regis hadn’t access to his powers, courtesy of the concoctions that had been shoved down his throat, they had very limited means through which to do it.

The obvious way to get the door open was to fake Geralt’s death. That might, if they were lucky, prompt one of the vampires to step inside and attempt to remove the body, or perhaps take an inconsolable Regis with his dead witcher to be jeered at by a crowd. It wouldn’t be hard. A bite; Geralt slowing his heart.

The only problem was, when he proposed this idea to Regis, Regis expressed great opposition.

“You ask too much of me,” he said, his voice low so to not be overheard by their captors. “I cannot bite you, I cannot risk losing control by having your blood on my lips, and I most certainly cannot let myself be stuck in a tiny cage with nothing but _you_ and _your blood_. Surely you’re aware of how foolish such a plan is?”

“I trust you, Regis,” said Geralt simply.

“While your confidence is flattering, it does not change a vampire’s- change _my_ predisposition for violence when surrounded by blood.” Regis shifted uncomfortably, his hands twisting in his lap. “And your blood happens to be… particularly alluring. Even more so as usual as I have not had any kind of sustenance in several days. Vampires may be able to subsist without food and water, but we hunger and thirst like any other.”

Geralt scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Look: I don’t see how else we’re going to get out of here.” He made a vague gesture to the bars. “It could be weeks before they open the door. If we do my plan, we could be out of here by today.”

“But the risk-“

“I trust you, Regis,” said Geralt again, sterner this time. “And you aren’t giving yourself enough credit. I know you can control yourself. You haven’t had a drop of blood in centuries, not even while traversing lands ravaged by war. I’m only asking for you to abstain for a few hours more.”

Regis audibly swallowed. Everything sounded loud in the quiet of the dungeon. “Last blood touched my lips during a crucial moment, I failed utterly to be the help that you needed of me.”

“You aren’t going to be drinking it this time.” Geralt stood, crossing the room to where Regis was sitting, positioning himself beside the man. “If you have a better plan, I will listen to it, and attempt it. But I know you can do this.”

Regis took an unsteady breath. “No, I do not.” He brought a hand to Geralt’s knee and gave it a squeeze. "I do not have a better plan, but I so wish I did."

Geralt slid his fingers over Regis’ and leaned into the man, his lips resting on Regis’ clavicle. “How about I bite you first? Get you in the mood.”

“I suppose a mishap in foreplay would be more believable than my simply attacking you out of the blue.” Regis chuckled weakly. “But are you sure you wish to do this now? It is quite late. Our hosts will be taking rest.”

“Better to have them disorientated,” said Geralt. “Besides, wait a few hours and you’ll be rearing to go again.” He glanced to the tent in Regis' trousers. “Well, more so than you are now.”

“I suppose you are correct.” Regis slid his fingers into Geralt’s hair, cradling Geralt's head as Geralt’s mouth closed over his neck. He let out a variety of breathy sounds as Geralt nipped at the skin.

“When you bite me, I’ll mix the blood with the water I have,” Geralt murmured. “And I’ll need you to get into the corner and look distraught.”

“Of course.” Regis stroked his scalp. “However, should you bleed too much, I _will_ be putting a stop to this.”

“I can survive a class three hemorrhage. I’ll be fine.”

“You can survive a- and how exactly do you know this, Geralt? Have you actually-“ A sudden, vicious bite cut him off. A gasp barrelled out of Regis’ throat, followed by a growl. “I don’t believe I need to tell you how rude that was.”

“Mm. You seemed to enjoy it plenty.”

“Such an unscrupulous man.”

Geralt applied another bite, softer this time, just below the first one. It would be Regis’ turn in a moment and he wanted to take advantage while he could.

“You love me,” said Geralt, smiling lazily against Regis’ skin.

“Very true,” said Regis, warmly. “In spite of your faults.”

“Considering how we met, I’d say because of them.”

“Now who is the one not giving themselves enough credit?” Regis gently dislodged Geralt, and Geralt took a moment to admire the shiny pink marks he’d stamped into Regis’ neck. “You are a wonderful, kind man.”

“Thought I was unscrupulous.”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Geralt snorted and let Regis drag him into his lap. Regis’ mouth found his throat.

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like me to bite?” asked Regis, licking a long line from his adams apple to his jaw. Geralt shivered.

“Nowhere that will be uncomfortable during healing, preferably.”

“Your right side it is, then; you commonly sleep on your left.”

For some inexplicable reason, the fact Regis knew what side he slept on sent a wave of warmth thought Geralt.

Regis guided Geralt into tilting his head back and stretched open his jaw, fitting his teeth around Geralt’s neck, at the meatiest part on his right side. He didn’t bite slowly – he clearly didn’t want to prolong the pain, and deftly sunk his teeth into Geralt’s skin. The sting of it was accompanied by a strange, tingling warmth that steadily grew into mind-numbing euphoria, and Geralt just barely remembered to cry out to attract the attention of their captors.

The blood was quick to come, and Regis was just as quick to dislodge, his hands shaking minutely as crossed the room, placing as much distance between himself and Geralt as was possible. He didn’t look at Geralt while Geralt bloodied the water in the mug he’d been given, getting it sufficiently red before pouring it out onto the floor. It was dark enough in the dungeon that it would probably pass a cursory inspection.

He laid down, hand on his neck, and focused on accelerating his heart beat. It would be exceedingly uncomfortable, but he knew the signs of severe blood loss and so would the vampires. If he was to convince their captors he was in dire straits, it had to be done.

His jaw reflexively clenched against the surge of pain that accompanied each accelerated beat. He counted to ten, his molars grinding together, and had managed to regain most of his composure once he reached the final number. It was a good thing, too, as he could hear footsteps approaching.

Two vampires came to the bars, peering down at Regis and Geralt with interest. Geralt pretended not to see them, slackening his hand on his neck, blood sluggishly squeezing between his fingers.

“Damn!” The youngest of the vampires slapped a palm to their forehead. “I really thought they’d last!”

“Heh.” The other vampire grinned. “Looks like you owe Avele a barrel.”

“I don’t even have a barrel!”

“Really? Why’d you offer then?”

“I thought Emiel had more self-control!” The young vampire sulked. “Now what’m I supposed to do?”

“Let’s drain the witcher,” said the elder, reaching for the keys attached to his belt. Geralt watched him out of the corner of his eye as he flicked through them. “We might be able to fill two small barrels, if we dilute it a little. Lethanei will be pleased about us having the forethought to not let the witcher’s blood go to waste.”

“I’ve always wanted to taste a witcher. But, you know… not really worth the risk.”

“I’ve already tasted one.” The elder licked his lips. “It was divine. So potent. It’s those mutations – they make it unique.”

“Damn, you’re getting me thirsty, Ati. Can I have a sip before we take him?”

"I know you. You'll gulp him dry."

"No I won't!"

"No sips. We'll drain him, _then_ you can have a goblet."

"Give me half the barrel. That'll satiate me. You can have the other half."

Keys jangled. Ati pressed a long, rusted one into the lock and twisted. “Not gonna happen. We’re going to share with everyone.”

“Everyone? Jeeze.”

“Avele will share too, remember. We’ll be drunk before morning.”

The cage door swung open. Geralt waited patiently for them to approach, readying to leap up and attack the younger of the two.

Regis got to them first.

He was across the room within seconds, yanking Geralt along with him and using his free hand to throw the younger vampire into the elder, sending both reeling into the wall. Evidently whatever he had been dosed with hadn't deprived him of _all_ his abilities. Geralt followed Regis out the cage and both of them belted down the hallway. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asked as they scurried up some steps. Regis glanced briefly back at him.

“Rather terrible. Thank you for asking.”

Their captors would have gathered themselves and started to pursue by now. Geralt considered the side doors as they ran for the exit.

“Out of the way, Regis,” he said. “I have a plan.”

Regis arched his eyebrows at him, but did as he asked, stepping aside just as Geralt charged a shoulder at the exit door. The wood splintered and snapped under the force of the blow and swung open, but Geralt grabbed Regis by the arm before he could step out into liberty, pulling him into a side room and hiding them within a small, cramped wardrobe. He slowed his heart beat so it wouldn’t be perceptible and placed his ear to the wood, listening hard for their pursuers. He didn’t dare so much as breathe.

The thudding of the vampires approach came within seconds and passed just as quickly. Fast as they were going, a normal human likely wouldn’t have been able to hear them. It wasn't long after that more footsteps arrived, accompanied by confused mutterings and the sound of the door creaking on its hinges. It took longer for them to leave.

Geralt only removed his ear from the wood once he was certain he and Regis were alone.

Without the fear of attracting attention, Geralt was able to move and make himself more comfortable. He carefully untangled his legs from Regis' and pressed his back up against one end of the wardrobe. Regis started moving at the same time, his long limbs jostling against Geralt.

“We’ll wait here a few hours,” said Geralt. “Let the vampires think we’ve escaped, then go.”

“A few hours?” asked Regis, followed by a soft, needy groan. “Geralt, I apologise for the inconvenience, but I’m not in the best of ways right now, and _you_ are still bleeding.”

“You want to end up back in that cell?”

“No, but I…” Regis shifted, and it was impossible not to feel the bump in his trousers as his crotch brushed Geralt’s ankle. 

Geralt sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “You need to go _again_?”

“My apologies,” Regis said, strained, and attempted to pull his legs shut. Geralt slotted between them before he could.

“Don’t apologise. I’m not angry at you.” He reached for the buttons on Regis’ trousers. “I’ll sit in your lap a while. Might make it more tolerable.”

“I’m… I’m not sure that’ll be enough. It may make it worse, in fact.”

“You misunderstand,” said Geralt, drawing out Regis’ cock and giving it a couple of long, wet licks before awkwardly crawling into Regis’ lap. He tore down his own trousers. “You’ll be in me. Just can’t have you moving too much. I’m a little sore.”

“M-my apologies,” said Regis again, which seemed all he was able to produce. He fell completely silent save for a choked gasp as Geralt lowered himself onto his rigid cock, right down to the hilt. By now Geralt was well adjusted to its abnormally large length and girth. There was no longer a slight burning as there had been during their first few times together. He opened up to Regis easily, without a hint of resistance.

It took a few moments for both of them to gather their bearings. In the limited space of the wardrobe, they quickly became hot and sweaty, even without moving. Regis wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist and Geralt wrapped his around Regis’ shoulders, both of them settling in for what would undoubtedly be a very long few hours.

* * *

Surprisingly, Geralt very nearly fell asleep while Regis was sheathed inside of him. The fullness was comfortable despite the periodic twinges of his prostate if Regis so much as twitched. He wouldn’t have minded falling asleep in this very position under different circumstances, but he couldn’t let himself sleep when they were due to leave the wardrobe soon. If they left too late, morning would arrive, and these vampires weren’t nocturnal; they would go about their day, and there was a good chance they would enter this room, find them, and then he and Regis would end up back at square one.

He had said hours, but his internal clock was only so reliable. It certainly _felt_ like it had been hours, but there was a chance it had only been one or two at most. It was at times like these that he missed his trusty hourglass. He’d lost it during his first tryst with Princess Adda and had never thought to replace it. He simply hadn’t needed to, being able to follow the time by eye and instinct. But it helped in situations like these, where he hadn’t a sky to look to for clues.

Nonetheless, he wouldn’t be waiting around any longer. Leaving too late would be far more perilous than leaving too early. He couldn’t risk the sun rising before they left.

“Regis,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

It took Regis a good minute to shake off the daze he had developed. “Oh, yes. Of course," he murmured, sounding reluctant to leave the tight warmth of Geralt’s body. "I'll need you to remove yourself. I'm afraid I'm a little..."

"It's fine. I understand."

Geralt carefully extracted himself from Regis’ body and pulled his trousers back up. Regis followed suit, pushing open a wardrobe door and throwing one leg out, readying to leave. Regis tottered a little on his feet as he stood and Geralt rose to help him, but ended up doing much the same, courtesy of having a cock in him for so long.

“We’re a mess,” Geralt muttered in amusement, attempting to smooth down his hair and shirt. For being captive, this whole ordeal hadn’t been all that terrible. Certainly better than the other times Geralt had been a captive. If he could get thoroughly and lovingly fucked every time he got abducted, he would probably start giving himself up willingly.

Regis chuckled and leaned a shoulder against the wardrobe. Geralt didn't try to rush him. He would need his strength for the journey they had ahead. It was a long way back to Toussaint.

“That is a common description of our circumstances, unfortunately.” Regis offered him a weak smile. “We certainly have a knack for drawing trouble.”

“Think it’s more me than you,” said Geralt.

“Oh, no, my youth is testament to the fact I am _very_ good at drawing trouble to myself.”

“And creating it,” said Geralt, heading for the door. He pushed it ajar, just enough for him to peer out into the corridor. The hall was dark save for a few distant braziers. The light just barely illuminated their exit and he saw that it had been closed. As Geralt had smashed the lock in getting it open, it had not been secured in any way.

“Looks clear.” Geralt eased himself out of the room, keeping his eyes trained on the lit section of the hallway.

“Just one moment.” Shuffling. A groan, and then Regis appeared behind him, steadying himself on Geralt’s shoulder. “Forgive me if I’m a little sluggish. There’s still a few days left of poison in me, and generally ejaculation is needed for one to truly be relieved of it.”

“Should have told me earlier. I would’ve helped.” Geralt glanced at him. “How do you know all this, anyway? Have you been poisoned like this before?”

“Oh, no,” said Regis. “We experience a similar, if less severe need to copulate during rutting periods.”

Geralt stared at him incredulously. “Did you just say  _rutting periods_?”

“Yes, Geralt,” said Regis, sounding amused. He pressed Geralt into moving toward the door. “Just as we have times where our abilities are strongest or we are compelled into transformation, we are also compelled to copulate every couple of decades. There would be very few higher vampires indeed if we were left to our own devices, as many of us lose interest in sex as we age, and many more choose to couple with creatures which cannot bear us a child. We would have some interesting variations on the vampire were, say, humans or elves able to bear us children.”

“Okay,” said Geralt, flapping a hand to dismiss the topic. “Think that’s more than enough discussion about vampire coitus today.”

“I disagree, but I shall spare you any further details.”

They crept down the hallway on silent feet, peeking out through the hole Geralt had created in the door before stepping out into an empty courtyard. The gate at the far end of the castle they had just exited was locked, but that was a trifle.

Geralt held tight onto Regis’ forearm as he approached a dozen or so barrels sitting inside a cart. It was no ladder, but it would do.

“Think you can climb up yourself, or will I need to carry you?” he asked, already heaving himself onto the cart, reaching out to make sure the barrels were sturdy. They would have to be to withstand his weight.

“I will manage,” said Regis, and with a surprising deftness – he must have had some energy in reserve – he climbed onto the cart after Geralt, then onto the barrels. He was over the wall before Geralt could so much as offer him a boost.

Geralt heaved himself onto the barrels and leapt to the other side of the wall, landing in a roll.

The escape was easy from there. They walked the winding road leading away from the mansion until they came upon a man transporting goods via cart and horse, who Geralt offered his witcher services to in exchange for a ride to Toussaint, which, thankfully, was the man’s intended destination. Sitting among vegetables and wine wasn’t the most comfortable of ways to travel, but it gave their feet a rest.

The sun rose a short time into their trip and Geralt was relieved to find that he recognised a Hansa Base sitting on the horizon. They were still a fair way from Geralt’s residence, but within a few hours, they would be home. And at home, they could have a hot bath and Marlene’s cooking and sleep in a nice, warm bed. It had only been a few days, but Geralt eagerly awaited the comforts of his vineyard house. He’d gotten used to living in comfort after retirement.

“At some point,” said Regis, drawing Geralt’s attention. “We will have to discuss what took place in that dungeon.”

“Discuss, how?” Geralt eyed him with some wariness. “A ‘it’s never going to happen again’ discussion, or a ‘I’d like to continue’ discussion?”

Regis stared at him, clearly gauging his behaviour. “You wish it to continue, then?” he asked. “I would certainly not be opposed myself, though this does not mean you are getting out of a discussion. Should we continue, we will need to talk about boundaries, our living circumstances, and other such relevant issues.”

Geralt snorted. “You know I want to. Wouldn’t have gone off on a spiel if you didn’t.” He folded his arms over his knees, nudging a cabbage out of the way. “If you’re trying to ask me if you want a relationship, be more direct about it.”

“Very well,” said Regis, exuding as much poise as was possible in his condition. “Geralt, would you do me the pleasure of being my significant other?”

Geralt almost laughed at his choice of words. “No need to be so formal. I'll be your lover.”

“Lovely,” said Regis, sliding his hand to Geralt’s knee, comfortable in the fact now that it was wanted there. “This certainly turned out better than expected.”

“Usually goes the other way,” said Geralt, offering Regis a small smile. “Almost pity our captors. All that elaborate planning and it led to this.”

“Uncomfortable as it was – and is,” said Regis, softly. “I would go through it all again just to have you.”

“You make it sound like you’ve wanted this for a while,” said Geralt.

Regis scoffed and leaned closer, pressing his lips to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Don’t be obtuse, Geralt. I thought that was quite clear.”

“Mm, right.” Geralt reached up and dragged his fingers into Regis’ hair, cradling Regis close. “Should have considered you a potential partner earlier. Feel like I’ve found something I’ve been needing my entire life.”

“Well,” said Regis, smiling wide. “We’ve plenty of time to make up for lost opportunities.”


End file.
